


House of the Shining Dead

by wvwv



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvwv/pseuds/wvwv
Summary: Coronabeth Tridentarius, Crown Princess of Ida, is the shining jewel of the Third House. More specifically, she’s the shining jewel of Ianthe.
Relationships: Coronabeth Tridentarius & Ianthe Tridentarius
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	House of the Shining Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place pre-Gideon the Ninth.  
> Sort of theory/speculation about Ianthe and Coronabeth's relationship?

Ianthe is bored.

She almost always is, so this isn’t quite the catastrophe that it would be for someone like Coronabeth.

She and her sister are in the Third House’s cavernous ballroom; the high ceiling and walls are draped excessively in shimmering gold and deep magenta sheets of fabric, and numerous long wooden tables are arranged evenly over the cream-coloured marble floor. They’re standing at the head of a crowd of people, Corona taking point. Most of them are members of the Second and Third Houses, but there are a fair few of the Fourth and Fifth scattered throughout. It’s Ianthe and Corona’s seventeenth birthday today, so their parents had thrown them the usual pretentious, overblown party that mandated numerous pointless dress changes for Ianthe and Corona, numerous droning speeches, numerous boring fights, and, overall, numerous wasted hours of Ianthe’s life that could be spent on literally anything else.

Their father, Head of the Third House, had opened the ceremony with a big bullshit speech about what talented necromancers they are, they’re the hope and pride of the House, blah blah blah. Their mother had followed with another speech that said basically the same things, but with different words this time. Now it was Corona’s turn, speaking for the both of them to spare Ianthe the hassle. After this, they get to eat, which will be the highlight of the night. Then, there will be a mini tournament between the cavalier primaries present, and perhaps some Cohort members, allegedly for entertainment, but it’s all so sanitized and showy that there’s no real risk or tension. Or fun, for Ianthe.

Corona tells a joke that Ianthe misses because she’s too busy smirking over Corona having spent the past ten minutes bragging about Ianthe’s accomplishments this past year as if she were in any way involved. The crowd roars with laughter, and there’s even a smattering of applause, the morons. If only they knew what they were cheering for. 

Though she has to admit, the image is a compelling one. The warm lighting brings Corona’s shiny, curly hair and smooth skin both to gleaming gold. The glittery, deep purple dress she’s wearing catches the light as she gestures, turning it into a shifting, shimmering galaxy. By contrast, Ianthe’s paler colouring looks sallow, and her near identical dress just washes her out further.

At long last, Corona takes pity on Ianthe—or, more likely, worries about what comments Ianthe will make if her patience is tested for too long—and draws her speech to a close, thanking everyone for coming, and they can finally go sit down. At this cue, servants come sweeping in to arrange various appetizers on the tables.

Corona and Ianthe are at the head of the main table, flanked by their parents to their right, and Naberius to their left. Babs, dressed in his most pompous cream and gold and burgundy suit, dark hair coiffed to within an inch of its life, puffs up at their approach, only to deflate, looking a little put out, as Ianthe sits next to him, and Corona next to their parents.

Ianthe reaches over and tweaks Naberius’ hair, just to see if it can still bend with all that product in it. She manages to dislodge a couple strands, but for the most part it seems to have completely frozen. “What’s wrong, Babsy? You’re looking a little limp, there. Not enjoying the party?” Ianthe croons, letting her hair fall in a sheet over her face so no one else at the table can read her lips.

Exactly as she expects, he flushes blotchily, bats her hand away, and leans sharply towards her. “You know, I don’t even know why you were invited. No one’s here to celebrate _your_ birthday,” he hisses, but he’s not as careful at keeping quiet as Ianthe.

Corona’s glorious head snaps over to them, eyes narrowed at Naberius. “Don’t talk to her like that. This is _our_ birthday; you’re the only one who doesn’t have to be invited.”

Ianthe smirks and leans back in her chair, tilting it on the back two legs and popping a bite-sized smoked-fish-and-vegetable appetizer in her mouth. Babs looks immediately flustered, torn between backing down in the face of Corona’s disapproval, or defending his annoyance at Ianthe. At least she can always count on her trusty cavalier for entertainment on short notice.

Ianthe has always been overlooked for her sister. Everyone—Babs most vocally—assumes that she must be bitter over it, and it is a little annoying sometimes, but in truth she’s more… smug. If she was surrounded by even one person who possessed a shred of intelligence, the truth would be found out immediately; but she isn’t, so it’s not. She supposes it’s convenient for her in the long run. Though the long run seems less and less important with every House member that interrupts them to congratulate them for existing with their own little speeches, despite the fact that they’ve all just sat through three of the fucking things.

While they wait for their main courses to be prepared, Corona gets back up to the podium, alone this time, to announce and arbitrate the mini cavalier tournament.

Naberius rises to take his place on the slightly raised platform before the podium, almost managing to conceal his scowl at Ianthe’s whispered, “Don’t embarrass us too badly, now.” 

As the cavs draw lots to see who fights first, Ianthe watches her sister. Corona looks bright and energetic, easily entertaining the crowd with off-the-cuff commentary and terrible jokes. Even standing among the cavs dressed in sharp uniforms with gleaming swords at their hips, Corona’s the only one who catches the eye, shining brighter than all of them without effort. Ianthe revels quietly in the warm, slow curl of pride in her chest at the sight.

When Ianthe killed her sister, it wasn’t out of jealousy like everyone would expect. There honestly wasn’t even anything to be jealous _of_ back then. Corona had always been more outgoing, but that was mostly because she didn’t have to study necromancy as much, on account of being completely useless at it. Her lack of necromancy more than made up for any jealousy Ianthe might’ve had for her personality. When they were young, Ianthe and Corona had been nearly identical, except for the texture of their hair. Their physical differences only showed up after.

On the surface, Ianthe’s field of specialty was souls, but she had actually always been interested in the places souls could go. Given that Corona’s understanding of necromancy in general was rudimentary, due to her lack of ability, it was laughably easy to convince Corona to go along with her plan. All Ianthe had to do was throw in some big words that Corona didn’t understand and reassure her that she’d be completely unharmed. Corona’s energy signature was more familiar to Ianthe than anything; if Ianthe could draw any soul back from that liminal place in between life and death, it would be Corona’s.

It was only fair, really. Corona’s birth had nearly killed Ianthe. She owed Ianthe one near-death in return.

That moment had been the most exhilarating of Ianthe’s life: watching her sister’s breath stop, her eyes go blank, her body still. Ianthe had never felt more alive, heart thumping, hands shaking with excitement, feverish eyes taking in every sign of cessation of life.

It didn’t work, of course.

Ianthe had been good, amazing even, but a ten-year-old couldn’t really be expected to be perfect.

Ianthe was able to draw her sister’s soul back to her body, mostly, but Corona didn’t remember anything she’d seen when she woke up, didn’t even remember that Ianthe had killed her. She’d burst into tears and flung herself at Ianthe, wailing about a nightmare she’d had. Ianthe had eagerly tried to pry any information from her, but all Corona said was, “I don’t know! I don’t remember! It was just terrible!” Since then, Ianthe had been by Corona’s side whenever she woke up from a nightmare, but she never got any details out of her.

The disappointment was gutting, as was the knowledge that she wouldn’t get a second chance to try, given the soul’s imperfect return.

From then on, Corona required some of Ianthe’s thalergy at all times for her body to grow and function normally. It was inconvenient, but it actually provided some unintentional side benefits. Whenever they disagreed, Ianthe just had to draw back her power a bit. All Corona would know was that every time they argued, she felt sick. Not emotionally sick—or, well, maybe also emotionally sick, Ianthe didn’t know—but physically sick. From Corona’s perspective, she felt her best when Ianthe was happy, healthy, and provided with everything she wanted, and that suited Ianthe just fine. The constant drain was slight, especially for someone of Ianthe’s calibre, but it still had an effect, rendering Ianthe somewhat wan and lacklustre. Corona, by contrast, shone with the light of Ianthe’s power, brighter and more vibrant than she’d ever been on her own.

Babs gets his ass kicked by the Second cav, but considering he’s still a teenager, this isn’t the huge embarrassment it would’ve been if he had been an adult.

Corona is thrilled about the second-place win, still congratulating him as they return to the table to eat the main courses. Even Naberius seems buoyed from the loss of first place at Corona’s praise; he doesn’t even glare at Ianthe as he sits down.

Corona takes command of the conversation at the table when she arrives without a pause, cheekily stealing a strip of meat from Ianthe’s plate with her fingers.

Ianthe sips lazily at her wine and leans against Corona’s shoulder, bored and already tired, but satisfied for now with food and drink and pleasant memories of her sister.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I don't necessarily think this is true, but the Third House is so damn weird that I feel like there has to be SOMETHING going on with them.
> 
> Anyway, I had to post this before the 14th, just in case Harrow the Ninth Act I totally proves me wrong lol.


End file.
